


True Monsters

by SeaOfPearls



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Creatures & Monsters, Dungeons & Dragons 5th Edition, Dungeons & Dragons References, Fantasy, Gen, Homebrew Content, Human, Monsters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-19
Updated: 2020-02-19
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:02:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22804516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeaOfPearls/pseuds/SeaOfPearls
Summary: In a world of monsters, Davrick Heisseldown is tasked (reluctantly) by his mother to make a man of himself. Unfortunately for him, the world he knows from inside his manor and the one outside are extremely different. He will certainly learn a lesson, but it won't be the one either his mother or he expected.This story is placed loosely inside of a DnD Esq setting exploring the idea of what monsters are in traditional fantasy that I have been working on and wanted to use this to flesh out the tone for. My first ever post on AO3, I hope you enjoy it!
Kudos: 1





	1. Part 1: Davrick

Davrick Edvard Heisseldown (Earl Davrick Heisseldown the First to his enemies, and presumably something else to his friends, or at least... he would be, if he had some) was bored. Not the subtle kind of boredom, the sly kind that lingers on the sound of hidden yawns and flickering eyelids, no. This was the both boots up on a desk, drumming your heels and sighing just to be heard kind of bored. Which, by some strange coincidence of fate and narrative, was exactly how Davrick found himself sprawled at this very moment, his body gently swaying in its recline as waves rock the ship’s cabin around him. 

Davrick, if you were to describe him honestly, is a short man of unrecognisable build and features, the list of which would involve heavy use of the words ‘chestnut brown’ and ‘average’. He has attempted to make up for this by wearing what can only be described as an explosion of finery in an attempt to highlight his features, an effort that has only further drowned them. Not that he would notice given that when half your current weight is precious metals people are liable to be extremely complimentary, a fact that has lead him to believe that his fashion choices are working. They arn’t. 

Davrick sighs, and then again once more, the twin sounds a finely crafted melody of misery. Sadly this display falls on deaf ears as there is no-one else in the room to witness it. Partly because he had been aboard the Crestbreaker for a full three weeks now and had spent much of that time speaking of his boredom to every member of the ship's crew that he could find, infecting them with a parallel boredom so strong that the mere sight of him could cure insomnia. A feeling that left many of the crew glancing over the ship’s edge at the water below and wondering if being stranded at sea was really the worst that fate had to offer. 

Mostly though Davrick's isolation came from his choice to hide in the cabin while the rest of the ship's crew was busy working. It turns out that it is much harder to be bored when your time is occupied with harsh manual labour, a fact that he had yet to discover and was unlikely to do so in this lifetime. The ship’s captain had threatened to make him join the crew if he continued to disrupt them with his presence, a challenge that Davrick had responded to with all the poise and indignation his upbringing could muster. Traits he had swiftly discovered matter very little outside of his own manor house. He may be an earl, but on the ocean a captain is king. Or, in this case, queen. 

Captain Draella was a pleasant lady, or at least she had appeared to be at the dockside before setting sail. Like nearly half her crew she was a dwarf, a sight that Davrick had been warned to expect and as such managed to shake her hand without a single racist comment, a feat he hoped his mother would be proud of. Draella’s long burgundy beard was a woven nest littered with rings made from precious metals, the uppermost of which were silver. A sign to outsiders of her gender, one necessary should they be unable to summon the courage to simply ask. Davrick had not asked. 

Her skin was a tangle of tattoos that from a distance looked to be a mass of small abstract shapes and lines that flowed across her muscles as she moved. Up close, it was a map. One that started wrapped around her throat and descended, presumably covering her entire torso before appearing once more to spread up her arms and down her legs on every inch of exposed flesh. Small detailed curves marked the edges of shores and the outlines of islands. A line that neatly split her jaw acted as a marker for north. A living memento of every place she had ever been, every beach she had walked upon. Extremely impressive to her kind Davrick was sure.

Regardless of her experience as a sailor she seemed to woefully misunderstand her station on land where nobility, in his opinion, truly mattered. She had honestly expected that he was to sleep below deck as a passenger for this voyage. Davrick Heisseldown. A passenger. After a quick exchange, both in words and coin, the matter was settled and her cabin had become his until they were docked back safely from the journey, as it should have been in the first place. Money always helped people to find their station. 

With one last sigh, propelled directly upwards and loud enough he hoped it could be heard through the roof at the ship's wheel above him, Davrick slides his boots back off the desk, sits upright and looks at the cabin around him hopefully for amusement. There was plenty to be found. Books. Maps. A large window of crystal clear glass looking out over the rolling ocean that lapped at it’s panes. There was even a gramophone resting gingerly on a table by the far corner, both it and the table firmly bolted in place, the captain’s prized possession and one he had in strained tones been asked nicely to leave alone. A request he would consider holding to depending on how long this journey took. 

These were sights and delights enough for anyone’s entertainment, all surrounded by the soft trappings of luxury that made this place truly home. But much like hunger left to choose in the early morning, Davrick found that the abundance of choice had quite the opposite effect on him actually making a choice. Instead he returned to his second favourite pastime; cursing his mother. 

There are many words to describe the Marquess Heisseldown. Radiant. Powerful. Captivating. The matriarch of a powerful trading dynasty whose very name stuck fear in the hearts of businessmen both lawful and otherwise. Davrick settled instead on ‘Bitch’ and continued from there. He didn’t say the word out loud of course, but thinking it was enough. It’s not that he suspected his mother capable of hearing him even from this distance but it simply wasn’t worth the risk to find out he was wrong.

It was by Marquess Heisseldown’s command that he was on this ship in the first place. A lesson, or so she said. A chance to grow into a man. To learn the realities of the world. Clearly she spent so little time with him that she was unaware that Davrick was indeed already 33 years old and man enough for anyone's liking. Certainly his own. As for reality? He was her firstborn son, a privilege that should itself be enough to guarantee his future and the world around him. He was to inherit the estate on her eventual death, a hopeful and persistent thought at times, and on that day become the third richest noble in the Jarrowmere region. The Marquess apparently had other ideas.

Davrick had been frogmarched into the grand banquet hall by less than apologetic guards and informed that unless he went out into the world and rid it of enough monsters to make a name for both himself and the family his inheritance would pass to his younger sister. He had of course laughed at the prospect and turned to his father, waiting to be let in on the joke. His father had turned to his mother with an expression matching his, though was a step ahead of Davrick’s own emotional roller-coaster when his confusion settled into resignation before turning back to Davrick once more, expressionless and silent. After much screaming, destruction of property and threats to ‘Leave and never come back’, a hostile acceptance settled over Davrick as well. Once she had made up her mind, the Marquess was not to be reasoned with. 

And so his new goal was given to him; to become a hero. To slay monsters. It all sounded very… dangerous. What was the point of attempting a task if in all likelihood you weren't going to survive long enough to see the reward? It became obvious then that there was only one course of action; to find the quickest, safest and most importantly easiest way to bring back a large enough trophy that he could return to the manor with the Marquess satisfied and then never leave again. A few thoughts had sprung to mind. Pay mercenaries to hunt something for him? Easy enough. Perhaps there were even some taxidermies out there of a dragon or some such he could just purchase outright. With brilliant schemes like these already floating through his mind, Davrick had readied himself to set off and be back before the week was out. 

The plan however, like near every plan ever conceived since the history of plans, almost immediately fell apart. Upon waking the next morning Davrick found the servants unresponsive to his cries, his bags still waiting to be packed and no breakfast in sight. It was, quite simply, the worst day of his life. A day that only grew worse still when upon opening the door to his quarters he found an Elven man waiting sat on a stool, quill in hand, writing what looked suspiciously like notes. Davrick could not read elvish, but a lifetime of living under the Marquess had left him the uncanny ability to know when he was being judged. So when those cold calculating eyes had turned to look at him, noted his state of dress or lack of it and began writing, that was when he knew that this was going to be an ordeal far greater than he had first expected.

Bribery had not worked. Nor had Threats. Pleading. Tried and truth pathways that he had walked his entire life and now suddenly every one of them was a dead end. Instead he just got the same flat look and a new note was added. Against his better judgement he even tried flirting with the elf, hoping for… something. Anything. Even confusion or disgust. Just some break in the endless empty stare. His words hadn’t even merreted a note that time, something Davrick wasn’t sure how to feel about even now. It’s not that he had wanted to bed the man of course. It just hurt that they hadn’t even considered it was all. 

And so he had found himself stuck with two options. Follow his mother's task and risk his life, but come home to the safety and wealth should he survive. Or let the estate fall to his sister and live a normal life on what money he had available now. A fate clearly worse than death.

Weighing his options he found himself drawn towards the idea of a ship. One naval battle would all it would take to amass a sizeable body count and the crew would do all the hard work. That had to be enough, surely? He would be there, helping out by encouraging them, maybe even swinging a sword a few times for good measure. Afterwards they could fish all the bodies out of the water, behead them and head home richer for the experience. A brilliant plan if he did say so himself. And he did. Often.

That was how he found himself here, alone, on the 37th of Fire, waiting for the eventual call to come from the upper deck. A shout of “sail’s sighted!”. One of the crew would come running, knock on his door, wailing for his help to come lead them against the- 

There was not a knock so much as a kick, the door smacking against the wall beside it and bouncing half way back to closed before being held still once more. In the doorway was… hmm. Well, one of the crew certainly. Davrick was sure he could remember his name. Probably. They had spoken often enough. He had children? Maybe? It was hard to keep track. Besides his mind was far more focused on what was important right now.

“You didn’t knock”

“Well aye, the captain told me to-” 

“Did she ask you to knock?”

“What? No. Look you need-”

“Well she should have. Manners matter. What if I had been indisposed?”

“...What?”

“What if I had been in a compromising position! This is my private sanctum for this journey and I would ask you kindly to-”

“Oh! Well see, you can’t live on a boat without seeing a dick or two. I’d be fine. Anyway, there's a ship. Come see the captain when you are done being… ‘indisposed’”

Davrick hated the wink that followed far more than the words it rode in on. It spoke volumes and whispered worse. He would have to tell the captain about this. Once he remembered the man’s name of course. He searched his mind for a suitably scathing reply as the intruder turned to leave but found only a frustrated absence of wit, one only exacerbated by the appearance of an Elven face looking through his now open door followed by the sound of a quill scratching. 

This had better be good news.


	2. Part 2: Draella

“There’s a ship”. 

Captain Draella’s voice was low and resonant, carrying out through the spokes of the wheel in front of her and across the ship’s deck below. She didn’t turn to face Davrick, but then she didn’t need to. She spoke to be heard, to cut through the noise of wind and waves. It leant it a commanding quality that left Davrick reminded of his own mother, a thought that found him standing a little straighter to his own irritation. 

“So I've been told. Look, you really need to teach your crew bette-” 

Draella ignored him, the wheel creaking in her hands as she held it steady and continued to talk over him.

“It’s a fishing vessel. We are going to pass by them. That’s all this is. You wanted me to tell you if we saw anything and I did. Go back to the cabin.” 

The commanding tone grows here. It slides into Davrick’s ears and grabs hold of his feet attempting to force them to walk away, to obey without thought or comment. And ordinarily he would have. The problem however, Davrick’s problem, was that nothing drove him to speak his mind more than anger. And between the unceremonious summons and now pointless time he had spent getting his clothes straightened and ready for this meeting he was undeniably angry.

“You had me brought up here for a fishing ship? Really? I pay you enough to buy this boat twice over just to take me out here and go hunting for pirates or sea creatures and this is what you bother me with? Or was the sight of people with fishing rods really just that terrifying that you needed me to march up here and comfort you-”

“An orcish fishing vessel.”

Orcs. That was enough to stop his tirade entirely, to squash the anger inside him and replace it with… well, excitement of course. There was fear as well, but then anyone should feel fear when hearing of their enemies. Of monsters. That was normal. Perfectly normal and nothing to be ashamed of. He repeated this to himself a few times for good measure. 

“So when do we attack?”

The tension between them grows at Davrick’s words as he treads straight down the path Draella had hoped to avoid. Crew working nearby who were already watching the exchange dropped what little subtly they had and now openly stared, worried by the captain’s expression as it darkened. 

“We don’t”

“I’m sorry? Pray tell why?”

“Because they aren't part of this. If they are out here that means a Town-Ship has to be close by and we’ll likely find a raiding crew befor-”

“Part of what? They are orcs! We are here to kill monsters. They are orcs. I don’t understand what the problem is here.”

“No, you don’t lad.”

“Excuse me??” 

At this Draella lets out a sigh, the tension in her muscles softening as she reluctantly accepts that try as she might there is no avoiding this conversation. She is no diplomat, has no experience in swaying people with her words. They either listened or got off her ship. This boy was outside of that, above it purely by the money he held over her head. Coin she needed badly enough to tolerate him and his presence but not enough to like it. She would give him a chance. Perhaps he would understand.

“Look, i’m not comfortable hurting innocent peo-”

“Innocent? People?? They are orcs!”

A chance wasted before it even began.

“What part of orc don’t you understand? Big. Green. Tusks. Kill everything that moves. The only reason that most people have homes instead of graves is our ancestors driving these creatures into the ocean where they didn’t have enough sense to drown. We came out here to hunt some monsters. Well there they are. So do your damned job and get to chasing them. Or… or my mother will make sure you and anyone associated with you can’t trade with a merchant from here to the frozen wastes.”

Draella turns to look at him now, her slate grey eyes glaring upwards from beneath two thick eyebrows. A murmur spreads through the ship. No one is working now. All eyes are locked on this exchange, on the man who just threatened Captain Draella. 

She could throw him overboard, leave him in the ocean and call it an accident. She doubted that a single person would mourn the loss. There were two problems with that plan however. First and foremost, as it always is, was the money. The whole reason for this pointless charade of an adventure. She owed too much to the wrong people to be able to turn down this job now and returning home without the boy or his trophies was liable to add the Marquess’s name to the list of people who wanted her dead. And that unlike the others on that list sailing to the other side of the world was unlikely to keep Draella safe from that kind of retribution.

Then there was the elf. She had tried to talk to them, to introduce herself, ask their name and understand their part in all this. The only response had been a polite bow of the head and then silence. They were watching her now, watching her hands as they gripped tight around the wheel imagining this little noble’s throat instead. That one would be trouble even if the boy wasn’t. She knew a fighter when she saw one. In the way he walked, how he held himself. And if it came down to the lives of some orcish fisherman or losing one of her crew to a rampaging servant? That just wasn’t a choice no matter how much she hated it. 

“Is that a command… sir?” 

There is a weight to these words even beyond the venom they are dripping with, one she sees pass past by the boys head without ever truly entering. She doesn’t want to touch this, to be part of it. Whatever comes next is on him, his burden to bear even if he never feels it, never understands.

“It is.”

No backing out now. She had tried. 

“You heard him. Ready the cannons.”


End file.
